Conspiratorial Rump Romp
by Latia
Summary: "Weirdass Ass Trolling"


Conspiratorial Rump Romp

Okay, first and foremost, it isn't like he's not happy for her. He hasn't seen her smile like this in…okay, technically he's never seen her smile. Before today he only saw Rose behind a mask of bad webcam lighting and JPEG artifacts. He only saw Rose, the _real_ Rose, all 5 foot no inches of skinny ankles and colt limbs—he only saw that Rose once, and…well, she really wasn't in the smiling mood.

But nevermind that! The past is in the past, and a fair amount of people he cares about are in the present. And Rose is one of them! And right now Rose is really 'of Light,' in the sense of she literally hasn't touched the ground since four teenagers bathed in electric green light boarded the ship. She floats, she snakes in the air like a butterfly ghosting a playful breeze. But more importantly, she looks happier than he ever thought she could be—or, at least ever admit to. She keeps hiding her smiles behind a quick hand, but you can't fool him, Rose. She has a hopeless case of the Good Feelings, and there is no—

"John," she finally laughs. "You're _rambling."_

He puffs his cheeks out. "Oh like _you _can talk!" John crosses his arms and looks her up and down, from her out-of-sight eyes to the tips of her blue shoes-which are STILL a good two inches off the ships' deck. "Ever since I turned eleven I had to keep a dictionary by the computer, in case I ever had to talk to you…or should I say…" And he ascends to be eye level with her, pointing an accusing finger at her. "Listen!"

"Eloquence and a tendency for tangents are not one in the same, John." But she laughs a bit, twirling so the long part of her tunic lifts a bit not that he's paying attention, noooooooope. "But I'll admit I have a tendency for both, so I'll concede defeat: a girl humbled. A pot calling a kettle _blapck_."

"Rose you're missing the point!" He sighs and turns to the bow, watching the stars streak. "What I'm trying to say is that I KNOW you have a good reason to be happy and smile-y and stuff, after the whole thing with you and Dave and the Green Sun, it's great that everything went okay and you didn't have to die, butTAYGUSG—."

He whips around to find her a good four or five feet away. She looks at him curiously. "Yes?"

"BUT." He gestures stiffly with his hands outspread, his face red as Dave's new ensemble. "THIS. THIS is what I'm talking about!"

Rose lowers her hood to blink innocently. "Why, what in this warped amalgamation of existence are you talking about?"

"Rose, you have been…" His mouth bunches around the words.

"Cheery? If it unnerves you that much I can stop."

"No, not that! You've…you just…" He clenches, unclenches his fists, and lets it out in one hiss of air:

"_You just touched my butt."_

"No I didn't."

"Yes you did!"

"Did not."

"Did, did, did!" He lands with both feet and a loud thump. "Ever since you got on the ship, every chance you get…" he flushes "You…brush past me, just the smallest bit, and…butt-touching occurs!"

She looks down at him a moment. "An interesting declaration. But, let us look at some facts. As you can see, John," she gestures to the general area around her, "this entire time I've been quite a distance from you, and sadly extendable limbs are not an added bonus of godhood. There is no way any discrete bottom buffoonery could have taken place."

"Bu….what?"

"No concealed sphincter merriment has occurred."

"….what?"

"There is a conscious lack of covert colorectal clowning. The opposite of a conspiratorial rump romp." I can go on, you realize."

"Please….don't." He shakes his head. "Argh, see, you're distracting me again! Look, I know if you want to you can go faster than normal, and it's totally plausible you could have come close touched m….me, and gone back before I turned!"

"Ah, and another theory. Tell me, John, would you know this was possible through experimentation of your own doing?"

"What? No, of course not—."

"You solemnly swear," she tilts her head back to look down on him. "that you haven't used your powers for any crass means."

He gives her the flattest look he can muster. "Oh, no Rose. All this time I've been using my powers for eeeeeeeevil. I am the God of Big Pervy Dicks. Every rump on this rig has been officially romped."

"It's always the cute ones."

"Rose! Come on!"

"What is there to come, John?" She goes horizontal, as if she's getting ready to do a butterfly stroke mid-air. "I already stated my innocence: these fingers are pure and clean. Not a single rear has been darkened by these hallowed hands."

"Oh, right Rose." He crosses his arms yet again. "So I suppose I just ~imagine~ all these butterfly butt touches, is that right? These covert color clowns or whatever?"

She flips to face him and smiles benignly. "_Now_ you're getting it."

"What."

"It's all a matter of the mind, John. These supposed attacks of tender butt touching are but a product of built up frustration."

"_What_."

"You must admit, God-tier ascension does draw striking similarities to puberty once you think about it. It could be that in the wake of mixed feelings conflicting with newly found hormones, you're realizing you desperately are wishing to experience the feel of the opposite sex. Or the same sex. Or whatever sex. In any case, you are so desperate for contact that in lieu of pursuing someone to undertake these derriere delights with, you had to create one of imagination to provide these spectral merriments. Perhaps you could call it..." And she turns completely upside down, her hood falling to reveal her eyes. "…a ghostly trickster?"

"…no. No." He turns away from her, planting his fists firmly in his hips. "I refuse to even acknowledge this conversation is taking place. I am officially not existing until any trace of psychobabble has left the premises." He crosses his arms. "I'm waiting."

(_pap)_

"HGUDSGED—." The noise that leaps from John's throat can barely be described as human. "ROS—." But even with the millisecond his turn takes, she is still floating an innocuous distance from his person.

"Yes?"

"YOU JUST DID IT AGAIN!"

"I'm sorry, but I thought you were 'officially not existing' up till a moment ago? How could I touch a butt if the butt is not there?"

"uuuuUUUUUUGGFQFYTAFSHGFTY."

"My, that's certainly a creative use for a hood."

John pulls it up. "That does it! This means WAR!"

"Oh?" She raises an eyebrow.

"Until you fess up to your weirdass…ASS trolling," he yanks his hood down and gives what might be a serious glare, "I will be returning your sphincter soliciting in kind!"

"Gross."

"I'm serious!" He throws an authoritative finger at her. "Gone are the days you could go with an unguarded backside! Anytime you think you're safe, I will be there! And you know what else will be there?" His voice drops to a dangerous whisper, and then rises with pitch as he clenches a fist manically. "YES! BUTT TOUCHING!"

"Gasp!" She clasps her hands to her mouth in mock-horror. "Anal amusement?"

"Rear ribbing!"

"Gluteus gallantry?"

"Derriere…um, derriere…butt bombardment!" He points at her for effect, balling his other hand in a fist. "Your butt is in for a world of total touching!"

"Oh Mister Egbert, oh." Rose blinks, John sputters on air. "No wonder the ladies are always macking on you."

"D…D…"

"What, no tips for poor ol' Papa Strider?" Dave walks past the incoherent Heir. "Well, if I can drag my_ sister_ away from your swoonfest a sec, Harley is calling. Both of you, I guess, but 'specially Rose." He raises his eyebrows at the girl. "Is this a thing that can happen?"

"Y….yes." Rose quickly pulls her hood up, masterfully shadowing any blush that might have crept up. "Right." And she departs.

The two boys stare at each other.

"Da…ve, I—."

"No, please," he raises a hand, "don't explain. It'll just ruin it."

"But—!"

"_Exactly_." And with what sounds suspiciously like a laugh, Dave saunters off.


End file.
